GW Lightning Arc 6 The Khushrenada Affair
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: .'Reaching For The Stars'. This takes place directly after 'Winter'. Treize is taken to the Foundation headquarters to face a hearing... ratings for ref to male male affection, Treize and Zechs.


Thank you to the wonderful Karina and to Rico who inspired and motivated me enough to carry on with this magic-porridge tale, which I herewith dedicate to them and their beautiful writings.

It's losing punctuation when uploading...

xxx

**Lightning Arc 6 – The Khushrenada Affair - ****Reaching For The Stars**

Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.  
Pairing: Zechs and Treize in their whole dashing, brilliant, ruthless humanity.  
Warnings: m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - and still nothing explicit (although they do remember a few of their closer encounters).  
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories

Summary: This takes place directly after 'Winter'. Treize is taken to the Foundation headquarters to face a hearing...

**xxx**

Treize had not been allowed to pilot his own plane – one of the Foundation men produced written dispatches to him, and Treize, with icy politeness, conceded defeat. The entire flight from the estate to the Foundation headquarters in Luxembourg passed in frosty silence. He was too pragmatic to let them hurt his pride.

He still needed… so close to his goal… a sliver of time… the decisive few seconds of eternity…

/To reach… for the stars… and embrace…/

The Fate he had created without fully understanding its price.

With the summons he had received, all uncertainties were gone, any doubts had cleared like a layer of silver mists on a still lake in autumn. He felt pain beyond words, yet into this flowed also a deep, restful calm.

/At last,/ he mused as he leaned back in his seat and watched with never-faded interest the colours of Earth fade away deep below, and finally melt into the blue grey of clouds and sky as the place dashed forth/we are close at last, and it will be done./

And so, setting aside any personal hopes and longings with an apparent ease that belied the steely discipline that lay beneath, the bleeding of a soul grand enough to love humanity in spite of all its miserable flaws, he stepped forward into the future he had planned, for which he had worked incessantly, and which he accepted and welcomed as his, yet to be brought into being.

He was determined to succeed, no matter what.

He only needed to buy some time.

/The blink of an eye… a few more heartbeats …/

A small eternity.

xxx

It was raining, in sharp, chill gusts when he made his way to the checkpoint – as countless times before, yet this time, it was hard to ignore the company. The two men, clingy, large shadows, never let him out of their sight, and he could all but feel the barrels of their guns in his back.

Wrapped in her dark blue uniform great coat, Une stood waiting in front of the air traffic control tower and checkpoint, her arms folded, her hair braided and coiled into a pair of severe knots at the nape of her neck, her coat tossing about in the cold wind. She wore tinted glasses that were beaded with rain, rivulets of water running over her pale face from the few sodden strands of dark hair that had come loose and trailed down her temples. She looked alert and cold; anger and anything else she might have felt carefully banked behind a blank expression and the gleam of the smoke-coloured glasses.

She stepped towards Treize, but one of the men slid squarely between her and Treize and acknowledged her with a curt nod. "Colonel, we are to accompany His Excellency to his quarters now."

"Yes. I will go with you. Sir." She saluted Treize smartly with a smacking of heels and a sharp nod; he returned the greeting just as crisply. He was unbelievably glad to see her, a wave of relief washing through him, and surprised he realised just how tense he had become.

/Not good,/ he reproached himself silently/so not good…/

The man stared at Une. "Ma'am, with respect…"

Une glanced at him, a tad owlish through her smoky glasses, and utterly unimpressed. "Colonel to you. I will go with you. As far as I am aware, I am still the General's adjutant. As a military officer, I am not bound by civilian orders, and you have entered a military installation."

"We are permitted…"

"Your permit evokes current regulations. According to regs, you have to be accompanied by an authorised officer, otherwise your permit is void."

The two men exchanged a glance; then the one who did the talking cleared his throat. "His Excellency…"

Une raised her eyebrows. Treize shrugged. "I believe that, right now, I am not in a position of authority, correct? Because if I were, I would request you gentlemen leave immediately."

Une tilted her head slightly, her gaze cool and steady on the men. "Shall we go then?"

xxx

"House arrest," Treize groused with a derisive little snort. He pulled off his black leather gloves as he surveyed his quarters – not the small safe-office buried in the bowels of the bunker, but the pompous suite in the main complex his security men had found so hard to guard. He walked around in a first cursory inspection, checking the familiar bedroom, the bathroom, salon and study for bugs, and left in place the ones he found. Une set a sealed food bag onto the shiny desk. Without a word, she went to help him, and suddenly they came face to face on the threshold between the bedroom and the salon.

Close enough to feel one another's breathing, to sense the warmth, the comradeship… Une stepped back and murmured an apology. Treize gave her an easy smile, his eyes darkly attentive. "Stuck here," he gave a small nod over his shoulder, "under a whole raft of surveillance measures, no doubt. I scared them, did I not?"

"Yes, sir, I think you did." She went to open the ration bag, disturbing the faint layer of dust that had settled there – the rooms, unused by Treize, had been sealed for months.

Coolly, he mused that it was a sign of his current status that no one had bothered to clean up properly before he was shunted back here. With a small smirk, he shrugged out of his coat, softly brushed past Une, and placed it neatly on a hanger in the wardrobe alcove by the door to the corridor. He took a little longer than necessary, his hands lingering on the dripping garment, stroking over the epaulettes and braids, down the chest with its shiny buttons and softly jingling medals.

Une smoothed the creases out of the bag. "Coffee, sir?"

Treize drew a quick, deep breath, smoothed back his hair that was dark with dampness, and turned. He looked immaculate as always, in spite of the shadows under his eyes and the darkness in those intense irises. His smile was almost as brilliant as ever, edged perhaps with a hint of gratitude, and tempered with one of those blue gazes that were cool and kind all the same. "Later, perhaps, thank you. How have you been treated?"

"As you might expect, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary." She did not elaborate; Treize did not press her. Although neither his title nor his rank was an impenetrable barrier, hers would have protected her even less. They both knew that her dry words summed up days – and nights – of almost uninterrupted interrogation, barely veiled as a hearing similar to the one he expected: intensely personal questions interwoven with insults, threats, accusations and verbal tripwires. The Foundation had its specialists, and presently they were dealing with an exceptional case. They had been entrusted with the task to dismantle a hero, and were not about to let go… to let him go.

He had planned, foreseen, and assessed his position. He felt comfortable enough knowing what he would face, and he was fighting. Blazing, consuming ambition, fuelled by compassion, utterly selfless and great enough to hold the entire world in the palm of his hand.

/And the powers we are involved with are tremendous, capable of blowing the very universe to pieces... so it shall be, a duel at sabres, only this time its proportions are magnified by stakes so much higher than a single life.../

"Ah... well, we are here now, are we not?" Pushed and stretched to feel, to grope, to cautiously feel his limits… he almost, almost enjoyed the fight in all its raw brutality.

"Yes, sir, we are."

Besieged he might be. Conquered he was not.

With a quick, efficient motion of his gloved hand, Treize flicked on the computer on his desk, and then went to turn on the radio in the bedroom. Tugging off his gloves, he sat down on the dipping mattress and scanned the stations until he found one with some tacky old songs – scratchy vinyl renditions, chugging along in a feel-good mood. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, his fingers twisting lightly the old-fashioned channel button in a careless attempt to adjust the tuning, his eyes downcast with an inward look. An oddly wistful smile softened his features in what appeared to be a rare moment of absentmindedness.

"Sir?" Hesitant to disturb, Une appeared at the door.

Treize lifted his head, smile still in place, shuttered and almost yielding. "Yes?"

Reluctantly, she gazed at him. "Would you like to rest awhile now? You look… tired… if I may say so."

A small pause, then, "Yes… of course. I think I have not slept in ages…"

"I will be just outside your door, if you need anything, sir."

"Thank you." Treize bent to tug off his boots. Strands of reddish hair, coming loose from their pomaded perfection, fell over his brow, in a semblance of the old-fashioned Russian bowl-cut. Wisps of copper hiding his eyes, and at the same time, making him look very young. Conjuring the ghost of the youth he might have been… a lifetime ago. A glimmer of silver as he turned his semi-profile to her. A dusting of grey at his temples.

Une bit her lips to suppress whatever compassionate remark might slip them.  
At not quite twenty-four, Treize was turning old.

"He is gone," he said, his tone void of expression, his movements charged with enough tension to make anyone shatter but him. "Just… gone. Like a shooting star… I could not hold him. I thought, at least he would be out of my way. Out of…" He pulled off one boot and set it down, then grabbed the heel of the other. "…harm's way. And now… I may have to fight him." He set the second boot onto the carpeted floor. And then, without looking up, in the same bland, controlled voice, "That would be all for now, Colonel. You might consider snatching some rest yourself. We both will need to keep in shape, won't we?"

xxx

Treize was woken by the persistent beeping of the intercom. For a few moments, his heart fluttered wildly, and he found himself gasping for breath in the darkness of the stuffy room – the windows were sealed shut, and he disliked the air conditioning, so he had switched it off. He slid his hands over his chest, fingers catching in pockets and buttons that glinted vaguely in the shafts of light that streamed through the sheer curtains from outside. It took him a couple of moments to realise that he did not lie in his field cot, somewhere on a darkened frontline base where blackout was a common necessity, but on the soft mattress of his bed, and that his feet were caught in the bunched sheets. The bed smelled slightly musty from months without airing, but also of his scent and sweat.

He had fallen asleep fully clothed except for his boots that stood neatly paired by the side of his bed. His personal gun had not yet been confiscated, and he closed his eyes again as he let his fingers ghost over the familiar chunky shape of the weapon, snug in its shoulder holster, the burnished metal warm and heavy against his chest. He had no words even in his thoughts when he became aware how much this caress resembled another… tangling tenderly in long hair, trailing over a smooth temple and tracing a downy cheek, full lips parting to taste his touch…

"Good," he murmured into the darkness as he pressed the gun closer, "you and I, my friend, both know what is wanted of us, but we will have to disappoint on this occasion. We will battle it out."

Willing his pulse to calm as he spoke, he pushed back the blanket that had snagged around his ankles. Absently, he ran his fingers through his hair as he got up and padded to the softly bleeping intercom. "Yes?"

"Colonel Une here. Good morning, sir. It is three hundred and fifteen hours now. The two gentlemen from the Foundation are here to take you to the Council."

"I'd rather send them to Hell and back," he replied politely. "Good morning, Colonel."

"Yes, sir," she answered, and he could hear the mix of anger and disdain in her tone, "I believe this would be appropriate."

"I shall be ready in a second."

"Sir… they said you should hand your gun over to me. Only while you're in session with the Council."

"Ah… and is there a problem?"

"Sir?"

"I will be ready in a moment." He turned off the intercom. Then he smoothed out his uniform jacket, closed the top button of the collar and checked in the bathroom mirror that everything was in its correct place. He would not keep them waiting, so shaving off the pale reddish stubble would have to wait, no matter how much he hated looking rugged with a five-o-clock shadow – this was not the time to play power games, he would need his reserves soon enough. It might even work in his favour if he let those people believe he was dishevelled already. He huffed quietly to himself as he went to open the door, to face Une, precise and tired, and the two men behind her, stone-faced in their dark suits and mirrored shades.

Treize nodded at them as he switched on a splendid smile. "Good morning, gentlemen, I see you are up bright and early to catch your worm. Colonel, my gun." He saw the men slip their hands to their own weapons as he handed Une the pistol, butt first. His smile took on a savage edge. "I trust you to keep it safe for me; I may need it yet for hunting."

Une took the gun and stared at him with an expression somewhere between questioning and helpless. "Sir… "

"Colonel?" Treize seemed composed, solid, radiating frosty determination, but Une had worked with him long enough to know the boiling furnace, simmering beneath his glacial politeness.

Still… this was their biggest battle so far, and so she asked even though she already foresaw his answer. Clutching the pistol, she shifted edgily, her boots creaking a little. "Shouldn't I come along now?"

"I would prefer for you to keep my quarters undisturbed," Treize said quietly, "if you can, of course – there is no need to refuse reasonable requests for access. There are no secrets in those rooms, nothing that needs to be hidden. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir. Reasonable access is to be permitted."

He nodded, giving her a grim, dark glance along with another incongruously sparkling smile, before turning to the men. "After you, gentlemen. You should be fine, now that I am unarmed." He managed to be condescending and obliging at the same time as he said it, knowing full well that they had no recourse but to take it in grudging silence as they walked him off.

Une watched as they left – one goon ahead, the other one behind Treize who carried himself with as much cool and poise as if he was going to attend just another ordinary, endless, slightly boring political liaison meeting.

And not the one that could bring to an untimely end him, his dreams, and finally unmuzzle the dogs of war he had kept on such a severe rein.

xxx

The room lay in semi-darkness. Tables of plain dark wood were arranged in a long-stretched U into whose open space Treize was ushered. The tables were bathed in pools of soft yellow light from individual desk lamps in front of each place setting that consisted of water bottle, glass, pen and paper pad. He could see the outlines of the men sitting behind the table, their hands, their suits, but their faces were swallowed up by the shadows beyond the circles of light.

It was like being blinded. He was confronted by the faceless, anonymous powers that formed the pinnacle of the Foundation to which not even he had access at will. Here, he – the splendid young General, His Excellency Treize Khushrenada, famed and infamous alike, was reduced to nothing more than a tool. A soldier, a servant whose only purpose was to receive and execute orders, unfailing, without a thought or word beyond those expected of him to fulfil his task. And he was sure that those men fully intended to intimidate him with this display of secrecy, how they made him jump, and with the way they had dragged him here at this hour of the night.

He did not bear grudges. He was playing a game, and he had fully known the stakes. The Foundation men had their loyalties, and sitting on their side of the table, he might have considered the same turns they were taking now…

/In the end, it's true; all is fair in love and war… I owe you, Miliusha, for reminding me, always.../

xxx

/A long, pale body draping against his back… warm water rushing over them, the scent of roses heavy in the steamed-up bathroom… an eager hand cupping his middle, another sliding up over his belly…

"Mill…ah… Miliusha… let go of… Jesus, how do you expect me to…remain… honourable?"

Laughter, rumbling deep in his companion's chest, along with a squeeze that nearly drove him insane with lust. "C'mon, Tre – all is fair in love and war – you taught me that."

His own hand, stilling the one that troubled him so. "Oh… are you trying to make me jealous… really?" A swift, determined turn, the swish of long, soaking hair over his cheek, the lanky blond squirming against him.

Zechs was gasping and laughing somewhere between anger and longing, his voice scratchy because it had begun to break. "Well, I almost – no, don't tickle, that's mean!"

"Take it back then." Spikes of raw desire flared through him even as the youth in his arms went completely still.

The press of hard flesh against his groin, a touch of lips to his shoulder, soft skin, a scrape of teeth. "I won't. From here on it's only forward." Zechs' tone strummed with urgency, finishing with a suppressed groan, then, "Gods… Tre… Treize…" Another soft grunt, the youth tensing in his embrace, a hot trickle down his thigh…

He held, caressed, rubbed soothing circles over the pale back until his companion regained his feet. Zechs shivered against Treize with the aftershocks of release, his face and chest flushed pink, but he did not seem ashamed. "Your loss," he mumbled and reached past Treize for the soap, "you'll have to jack off now."

Treize winced. "Ah… Miliusha moy, so stubborn… You would make a dreadful subordinate. But if this is what you want…"/

xxx

/I should not be thinking of these things now…/

With an effort, Treize braced himself. He was tired beyond belief; his sleep had been beset with nightmares, it irked him to be ordered around like this, and his heart was aching… he was sore with longing, with the pain of his recent farewell from Zechs, and the visions that plagued him about what the future might hold… the unfathomable, numbing fear that something might yet foil his careful plans and lay waste to all those meticulous designs.

The terrifying fear that the rivers of blood they had cost might have been spilled in vain…

Nothing in his flawless appearance betrayed just how weak he felt at that moment. No more than a heartbeat, the blink of an eye, before he sensed the familiar rush of adrenaline that primed his senses for combat…

xxx

/"This is a battle he must win, at any cost. Please, Milliardo, I am incredibly glad that you are with me…"

After the Victoria Lake base had been bombed, Treize had seized the moment to invoke the fealty of the Zodiac (1), and the organisation had blossomed to life swiftly, smoothly, in secretive silence, like a desert plant springs to life at the first drops of dampness from roots centuries old. His command running through the intricate web they had so carefully woven, electrifying the fibres of this invisible fabric that reached into the lowest ranks and the highest echelons of the Alliance military hierarchy. Soldiers of stardust, in all their professional glory... Treize was elated.

Yet Zechs was not comfortable.

"Why don't you declare war? Are you waiting for the colonies to do it, so you keep a clean record? The heroic defender of Earth?"

"Yes. People need beliefs, even more so if they are asked to throw their lives into the breach. We will have to set it straight, at some point. Not yet. Not now. I need time to build our forces a little more."

"With mobile suits?"

"Yes."

"And Zero?"

"Yes. Milliardo. Zero. A standby I hope I won't have to deploy."

"Don't. It's Zechs now…"

"Zechs…"

A small pause, then, "And don't worry, I'll be with you. I'll do as you tell me. I always do, don't I? I won't fail."/

xxx

/No. No, you won't fail… therein I place my trust. In you, Miliusha…the prince who loves the rose… but now, I am afraid, it is all thorns…/

"Gentlemen." Treize nodded politely into the direction of the head of the table.

"General," answered an oddly disembodied voice, a smooth, dark baritone, from the darkness of the room.

"I am ready, sir."

"Then let us begin. You are here today because you stand accused on a number of points… the chief complaint being a blatant breach of rules of conduct for Alliance military personnel. As you know, those rules disallow intimate relationships within the same chain of command, explicitly prohibit relationships between service personnel of the same sex, further those rules demand a clear separation of private funds from military resources, and the declaration of any conflicts of interest be it of a business, political or any other nature. You are also accused of breaching confidentiality and security clearances through your involvement in, incitement to participating in, or creation of, a secret society within the structures, or outside thereof, but related to the armed forces.

This panel has heard witnesses calling into question your integrity, competence, and ability to command, along with suspicions that you may have embezzled of funds assigned to military projects, if not for private purposes then for those of aforementioned society. These are grave charges."

/No more musing…/ "I am aware of that, sir."

"You will be given the opportunity to explain yourself in due course. For now, this panel requests you answer a number of questions."

"I am at your disposal."

"General, do you admit to conducting a highly inappropriate affair with your second in command, Colonel Marquise, who is now wanted for desertion and treason? Is it true that you aided and abetted for a considerable length of time his secret activities that contravened not only Alliance policies but your own orders? Is it correct that you became aware of those activities a long time before you brought them to the attention of your superiors, and then only after having been forced to do so by circumstances beyond your control?"

Treize swallowed at the broadside. He had known with absolute certainty that this would be their strategy, but it still knocked him, and he was grateful that the high collar of his uniform and his cravat hid his bobbing adams apple. His voice betrayed nothing though, and his tone was courteous, free of either challenge or servility. "You will know, sirs, that the Colonel and I grew up together as brothers in all but name."

"Brothers? This picture here… can you explain to this panel when it was taken, General?" Treize only just caught himself, suppressing a reflexive flinch when between him and the head of the table materialised a holographic image, enlarged to fill the space from the dark blue carpet to the high ceiling with its dusky glow… of Zechs, looking very young, and Treize. Zechs in black jeans and turtleneck sweater, his pale mane flowing over his back and shoulders as he hugged Treize, in full uniform. The boy's lips but a whisper from Treize's cheek. They were both laughing, and Treize's hands had settled lightly on Zechs' backside.

No, they were not going to spare him.

The semi-transparent image hovered close enough for Treize to stretch out his hand and touch, before it faded into the non-darkness of the room. He had to command himself to stay motionless, but was unable to stop a slight sheen of sweat appearing on his brow, as the sudden, irrational urge assaulted him to grasp the ghostly picture and hold it. To will it back into being, to FEEL him. Zechs. Milliardo. As unattainable now as perhaps he had always been.

Staring, with a hollow sensation spreading in the pit of his stomach, Treize remembered the moment sharply. They had kissed, later that day, in the stables, amid the hay-scented warmth of the animals, with Zechs pressed backwards into the stack of straw bales, wisps of straw and hay tangled in his hair and jumper, his groin hard against Treize's middle, his fingers knotting in Treize's hair, and Treize's hands possessively cupping Zechs' face. To hold him – whether to stop him or to encourage him, he could not decide.

Treize moistened his lips. "This… it was taken after my return from my first command."

"You do not look very brotherly here, General."

"I nearly died on that mission," he rejoined quietly, glad that he still sounded confident. "I had not been home for over a year. He was thirteen at the time, with not another soul on this world to hang onto – this was merely youthful exuberance."

The photograph paled, another one brightening into being in its place, and more after that one, each of them showing him and Zechs close – embracing, or leaning on one another, or laughing together… "And this? And this one? The newspapers were full of them. Magazines, the boulevard press, you even made the television news in the colonies."

Treize allowed a hint of impatience to colour his tone. "I do have a public role too, gentlemen. And you will know that I asked my solicitor to sue the papers, and the stations that broadcast this particular spate of nonsense. They were accused of libel and bound over. You will also recall that subsequently I won the case, and the papers as well as the stations had to pay damages after I refused an out of court settlement. All copies were withdrawn, all news footage confiscated, and the negatives surrendered to me. Furthermore, I won a public apology, the retraction of any slanderous comments made by the papers, and a court order to stop any further nuisance of this kind. Are you now, sir, doubting the integrity of the judges?"

"Mind your attitude, General. It is you who will answer the questions. Various credible witnesses observed you and the Colonel behaving in a highly inappropriate manner on a number of occasions."

Apparently perfectly placid, Treize inclined his head. "I shall gladly hear their statements and comment upon them as necessary."

"General, is it true that you proclaimed your intentions not to marry?"

"I do not see how my private life has anything to do with this hearing."

"You will admit that in the light of these particular charges, it does have a bearing, General. Answer the question."

"My career hardly allows for a family life."

"Yes or no, General."

"Yes, it is true. I mentioned in a dinner conversation at the officer's mess, on the occasion of my first promotion, that I could not imagine to get married. This was after my return from that first command that nearly killed me at mere seventeen. I did not feel up to founding a family then. I thought it irresponsible."

"And do you, after what you explained to us previously, still deny the existence of a personal relationship between yourself and Colonel Marquise?"

"I never disputed the existence of a personal relationship; however, I do deny any wrongdoing."

"This is not for you to judge, General, but for your military investigators to establish, after we are done here. Answer the question."

Stolidly, Treize blanked his expression and levelled his tone even as he felt himself sing like a steel string with anger and frustration… /what a criminal waste of time, precious time, every second paid for in blood…/ "I will not deny a personal relationship. It would be absurd to do so; we grew up together as equals, with my parents treating Zechs Marquise like their own son."

"Then I believe this hearing becomes even more pertinent because the potentially immense damage your conduct could cause the Foundation."

"The Foundation is not an open organisation" Treize countered hard. "It is not discussed in the media. And I repeat that my conduct was at all times within the bounds of my honour as an officer."

"And we would like to keep it at that," came the prompt rebuke. "But you have supplied us with ample reason to doubt you. Do you deny ever having, or trying to create, any intimate relations with Colonel Marquise?"

Unblinkingly, Treize stared at the dark silhouette of his interrogator as he flatly delivered his reply. "I do. No such relations exist."

"You have been accused of nepotism."

"Colonel Marquise's record speaks for itself."

"We have many brilliant officers, General. Lieutenant Noin, for example. Can you explain convincingly to this panel what made you choose Colonel Marquise for your Second in Command?"

"His record as a pilot, his tactical abilities, and his outstanding conduct as a soldier. As you will be aware, women soldiers are discouraged by our government's policies to participate in active combat duties, and Lieutenant Noin's preference was to train new cadets. To do otherwise would have restricted her career options –to override her choice would have been an unfair and demotivating move on my part, and might have caused rather adverse publicity at the time neither our government nor the military had time to deal with."

"So you dropped her, gladly, in favour of your brotherly friend? Is it not true that, on a number of critical occasions, he challenged superior officers, including yourself? And that he only narrowly escaped disciplinary measures that would have marred his service record, and that this… indulgence was due to his personal association with you?"

"I know of no such occurrences," Treize replied without missing a beat.

"We may have to refresh your memory, General, but we will defer this matter for now. This panel has convened to assess an array of charges against you. In order to aid our knowledge of the circumstances that brought us here, we would like to know what effect Colonel Marquise's…" The man paused, apparently seeking the right word…

"Loss," Treize said, immediately regretting this tiniest of slips. For all his cunning, he had walked right into this skilfully laid, innocently draped snare, and it annoyed him because of its simplicity. It had been there, in broad view, and he had missed it. He would have to do better than that.

They pounced on it, of course. "Loss? Colonel Marquise has been courtmartialed in absentia. He was found guilty of, and convicted for, treason and desertion. He proceeded to contact the enemy – did you know this yet? No? We might decide to fill you in on the details later. Loss' hardly seems to cover what happened. Tell me, General, which term you would consider appropriate?"

This time, Treize remained silent, struggling to digest this piece of information, wary of what would follow, and concentrating on his display of cool. It was getting rather exhausting, and a leaden weariness began to weigh him down. He had, perhaps, not wanted to know – /no, not fair/ he admonished himself, not fair because Zechs had been almost recklessly open with his hints, or had they been pleas/Too late now, too late… predictable, maybe, but no less painful for being logical…/

"Colonel Marquise contacted Weissfang while you were still on your way here," the man prodded. "He had barely taken his leave from you. Do you still refuse to call your former SiC a traitor?"

Treize heaved a deep, harsh breath. "I do not see the need to repeat the judgement passed on him."

"Then let me put it simply for you, and answer my question: do you consider Colonel Marquise a traitor and deserter, yes or no?"

And Treize, unblinking, replied, "Yes." Clamping down on the sudden, overwhelming swell of agony with a fist of steel, crushing the hot, black wave of despair before it could swamp him utterly… he could not, he must not fail now, so close, everything he wanted within reach… it did not matter what he felt, what had passed, what he had lost. The future did not wait, and the machine he had set in motion, this grandiose, blood-sodden spectacle of a war beyond all wars, had entered its last revolution. Turning those infernal mills that were grinding their human grain to spurt forth blood and tears, to fertilise the fields of murder…

To harvest the peace he craved. This vision that seemed so tantalisingly close, hovering just beyond the horizon. The flawless, wonderful, miraculous peace that must follow the horrors he had planned and brought into being… those murderous monsters he had created and commanded – if he could only dismiss them now… the great wizard of OZ – was he no more than a wizard's apprentice after all? (2)

"Thank you, General. Will you now explain why you failed so blatantly to provide even the most basic contingency plan for this scenario?"

Treize briefly closed his eyes before facing again the row of bright lights and shady silhouettes. "I have another officer in place."

"Your argument is flawed, at best," came the swift, sharp retort. "Or should I point out that Colonel Une, although no doubt an extremely capable and devoted officer, is not a mobile suit pilot? Should we probe further, perhaps – do you not keep a picture of her on your computer files?"

"I have known her for a long time."

"Yes, General, we know that. It appears that only people you have known for a long time have a chance to rise through the ranks under your command."

"The Specials rely on being a tight-knit unit."

"Just how tight is too tight? Are you keeping pictures of all your best officers?"

Treize could not help the flush of anger that coloured his cheeks, but he willed his tone to remain smooth and unchallenging. "Not all of them have been acquaintances of mine and my family for many years."

"Still, General – it is a matter of judgement, and it appears yours has been fatally flawed in a number of cases. It has been brought to our knowledge that you were having severe disagreements with engineer Tsubarov on the development and use of mobile dolls. He recalls, in his witness statement of which this panel had sight, that you refused to increase funding for his development team, that you repeatedly declined his requests to allow the completion of the last stage of the technological readiness test for the doll prototypes, that you were curtailing his resources, and that you were trialling a different system involving human pilots instead. We will touch on the subject of diverted and falsely declared funds later.

Engineer Tsubarov believes that your actions were based on a grave error of judgement as the dolls are unmanned weapons that can outstrip even the best of pilots in terms of destructive capacity and potential strategical application in the current and future conflicts. In a word, you refused to let your soldiers have the best weapons available and preferred instead to throw their lives into the breach. It is possible to mass-produce the dolls at a fraction of the cost incurred when fully training a top Mobile Suit pilot, and that no special materials – such as gundanium – are needed in order to ensure their full functionality. You may comment later, General. For now, we will try to determine whether this failure of yours was due to ignorance and incompetence, or deliberate."

"Using mobile dolls speeds up armed conflict. It also flies in the face of any soldierly excellence, let alone the Articles of War we have adopted. Disregarding our own rules thus would make of us and our soldiers war criminals."

"We are not here to discuss the laws of war, and we shall leave the polemics to the politicians – you are not rallying your troops now. We are here to evaluate your military performance, along with the repercussions of your personal life on the latter as it appears that your relationship with Colonel Marquise created this situation in the first place and caused you to commit various blunders."

"With respect, my military performance has been near to flawless so far, and it would be hard for any civilian to arbitrate in such matters."

"Yet as you very well know, the ultimate measure of military excellence is to win. I dare say we are equipped to tell whether you have gained victory."

"Are you saying, gentlemen, that I and the men under my command will not be judged as long as we win this war?"

"This might be oversimplifying the matter, but you, General, like any regular soldier, are paid out of government coffers, and we represent the people whose taxes end up in those funds."

Treize managed to keep an expressionless face at that, even as the man drew a deep breath and continued, "You are expected to follow orders. You will not necessarily carry the responsibility for the consequences of those orders, but you are answerable for the quality and outcome of their execution. Engineer Tsubarov understands this, and we would have expected no less from you."

"Engineer Tsubarov has personal grievances." Treize sounded dispassionate even though he recalled vividly the hefty argument he had with the man who treated the dolls like his personal toys, and the battlefields of space like a giant fancy computer game. Tsubarov strikingly and totally lacked any concept of compassion, he did not even think of casualties – they featured, if at all, as mere hit counters in his scenarios. A measure of success, the higher, the better. Beyond a burning ambition to create the ultimate fighting machine, he held a deeply rooted contempt for anything remotely humane. He loved his machines for their perfection, and he detested people for their imperfections and weaknesses… the very traits that to Treize summed up humanity at its worst, yet also at its best and most glorious. War and peace, suffering and beauty, stagnation and progress, hate and love, they all hailed from those flaws and the desire to rise above them.

Tsubarov's kind of rightness could only be found in the stillness of Death.

/Grievances… what a way of putting it…/

xxx

/It had begun as simmering resentment between them when they realised they were competing for resources. Tsubarov was unimpressed by Treize's standing, and jealous of his seniority. Treize was not above invoking his connections, and when Tsubarov's application for extended funds was denied by the Alliance Supreme Command, he had gone to the Russian Officers Club to get smashed.

Treize had arrived there later with a few of his own officers to celebrate the approval of a new Mobile Suit contract incorporating his and Zechs' designs Tsubarov, already slightly drunk, challenged him; Treize, in a generous mood, countered politely. Somehow though, things got more heated; fuelled by drink and fired by the support of their respective groups, their debate sharpened; one word gave another-

And then Tsubarov had run out of arguments and resorted to abuse, Treize felt his control slip, finding himself groping for his dress sabre, while his fellow officers pressed close around him, and Tsubarov huddled with his cluster of like-minded engineer officers. Red-faced and with blazing eyes, he all but shouted at Treize, who for once lost his cool and found himself roaring back, still clutching the heft of his sabre that in the tightness of space he could not draw…

/Faggotfucker./

A second of stunned silence.

Zechs had been there, too. Watching, his face growing ashen… for a brief heartbeat, his gaze flitted across the clump of men that clustered around Treize – helpless, Treize had thought, and it had cut him to the quick. Helpless, pained, a wave of black regret welling in those pale blue eyes, and Treize saw his career, his love, his designs, all put into jeopardy, caught in an avalanche racing towards shame and oblivion…

Zechs had seen the same. His hand slipped to his personal gun.

/No./

Treize was quicker, and they had to pry him off Tsubarov who gave as good as he got though he was no match for Treize's controlled, systematic beating. Someone had sense enough to call Military Police who elbowed their way through the jeering and cheering crowd, officers and engineers at each other's throats, and broke up the tight circle of brawling men.

It had been an ugly, demeaning scene, their clash had been complete and irreversible – Tsubarov's record was marred, Treize's reputation scratched. And even though the men who spoke as his witnesses cleared him, he had his suspicions about the influence of his family on the outcome of the case./

xxx

"You were rather hands-on in resolving those… differences, General."

"I was cleared."

"Yes, of course."

Unsurprised, Treize registered the response and the small, charged pause that followed, before the smooth voice continued, "We have taken those grievances into account and found them insignificant in comparison to the facts he detailed in his statement. It appears to this panel that to all intents and purposes, your career as a soldier is finished, General. Was this… fling really worth it? You are well advised to consider taking steps to limit the damage to yourself… perhaps it would help to delve into history a little. Do you know what this is?"

/Fling…/ It cost Treize much self-control not to clench his hands, or lose his composed expression or cool demeanour. He glanced at the fat red file and a slim disc case the man pushed into the circle of light before him. "No, sir."

"Should we be forgiven to say, like father, like son…"

Treize grew hot, and this time, he could not help the small, charged pause before he gathered himself enough to speak again. "Excuse me?"

"Or that it appears as though you tried to double-cross the Foundation, much as your father…"

"With all due respect, sir-"

"You will be given time to respond, General. However, we are getting ahead of ourselves. Did it ever occur to you to wonder just what happened to your father?"

"I do not see the relevance of this question to the proceedings-""We will come to that. Answer the question."

A sudden wave of fatigue, washing through him with debilitating force. /Not now. I have no time for that… no time at all… there will be time to be tired, later, like everything else; I will live later, love later… apologise later…/ "My father went missing in action and was honoured post-humously for valiant action in the field."

"Yes, of course, this is the official version… but what did really happen?"

"Sir?" /This place gets hotter by the minute. This idiotic collar itches… I meant to tell them to re-stitch the lining…/

"Did you never wonder about the extraordinary circumstances of the night that Zechs Marquise arrived at your home? The coincidence of your father abandoning his command in the heat of a rather pitched battle, and his flight home to bring this child to your family's estate? Do you know what night that was?"

/How could I forget/ "One of no particular importance, as far as I can recall. I was very young then."

"You are an intelligent man, General. Credit us with the same. I am sure that, by now, you will be aware that it was the night Cinq fell after prolonged and meaningless resistance against the Federation forces, led by your father. It was the night the royal family died in the ruins of their palace, after sending hordes of unarmed, untrained civilians to face off his elite troops."

Treize kept his face carefully blank, his tone calm, his voice… the tiniest bit rough at first, but mellow after the first few words of his rejoinder. "…with talk. They were trying to talk to the soldiers who shot them. They were trying to surrender."

"So you do remember."

"I saw archived news footage, many years later. On one of the anniversaries of the… conquest of Cinq, in the context of studying the practical and legal implications of military tactical responses to civilian unrest."

"And did it none of that ever pique your curiosity enough to question the background of your guest? We find that hard to believe."

"I do not understand, sir." /Oh, of course, we are playing this little game, we all know this, but I am better than you – no, I am the best, and I shall prove it…/

"You know that Miss Peacecraft resurfaced many years later, as a warden of an influential member of the Foundation."

"Yes, sir. Although I cannot see the connection to my father… or to the circumstances of his death."

"Because you are blinding yourself, General, a dangerous thing to do in your position, not just for your own sake. You know very well that ignorance does not preclude culpability… or punishment. But we will come to this as well. This file here contains the details of a meeting your father attended at the request of this council, including a full transcript of the proceedings. It was not quite a court martial, but a hearing much like this one – we are civilians and as such have no jurisdiction over military personnel when dealing with issues related to your duty. But in our capacity as the founders of your operations, we have certain rights and powers that are enshrined in the statutes of the Alliance Forces. I gather you did not know that your father was accused of betraying the orders he was given with regards to Cinq?"

"What kind of orders, sir?"

"Answer my question, General."

"No, I did not know that." /Strange, to speak the truth like this, unembellished, undisguised… why does it feel so… naked/

"The body of Miss Peacecraft's elder brother, a boy of six at the time, was never accounted for, in spite of prolonged and concerted search efforts."

"Yes." /No, and you never will should I have my way…/

"Yes? We did some research, admittedly too late as we trusted your integrity… perhaps a little too easily. It appears obvious when comparing the few pictures that exist of the young prince, with newer images of Colonel Marquise. Even though there are also only a handful of those. You were both very careful. Or should we say circumspect, aware of the possibility of discovery… you were playing with high stakes, General, and you knew it. Perhaps you speculated that it would all blow over, that no one would call your bluff if only the Colonel made himself indispensable, if he rose high enough to win sufficient trust and confidence to summon the support he needed… He went farad climbed high, did he not? General?"

"Yes, sir, he did indeed." /And he earned every single piece of it…what an understatement… he was poised to fly from the day he was born…/

"Only to abandon those who trusted him and throw it all away. You let him prove himself, and look where it got you. Tell us, General, you did not expect this outcome, did you?"

"No, sir." /Not quite, and it hurts like hell, oh, and you know it, don't you…/

The man placed his hand on the cover of the red file. "It has been a difficult time for all of us… but it must be particularly harsh for you, is this not true? You lost much in this affair. The trust of the Council, your reputation, most of your powers. Contemplating the magnitude of implications, we are not just discussing a mere demotion and relief of command here… and, of course, you lost someone you believed to be your closest friend."

"Yes… it has been… a great disappointment." /Tearing me apart, but I have no time; it will have to wait, life will have to wait along with pain and tears and whatever else there might be beyond this war…/

"Mild words for a betrayal of the most callous kind. You are very diplomatic, General. We have considered your youth and your peculiar situation. We are prepared to take both into account. We appreciate just how cruel it must be for you to handle this particular breach of faith, the disloyalty he inflicted upon you…" He let it trail.

Treize remained silent.

The silence stretched, grew thick and heavy, until the man broke it. "We are offering you a way out."

/Of course you do; you need me, but…/ "You mentioned… my father."

"Ah, naturally, you did not know. We checked; you never tried toaccess his files… so perhaps you had an idea and did not want itconfirmed? Maybe you were loath to see the honour of your familybesmirched?"

"My family's honour is intact, sir." /And don't even consider that I might not have done it because I respect the rules… well, no. We know one another too well, do we not? I simply had no idea where else to look. /

"Well… your father's demise… in order to preserve the integrity of the Foundation, the morale of the forces, and protect the rest of your family who, after all, are a major contributor to the Foundation's work, we had to find a subtle way of dealing with the matter. It would not have been helpful to cause controversy."

It was like a punch in the gut. Treize felt his throat go dry as he tried to force his racing heart to calm. "His… demise?"

"After the hearing he attended, one of his staff solved the problem."

"You sent an agent?" He could not help it. /Bastards.../

"It was a tactical quarrel between officers, during a combat situation, and unfortunately, your father's subordinate lost his nerve and used his gun. He was, of course, due to appear before court-martial, but was killed in action."

"Maybe this is… what I did not want to know… gentlemen." /No, I did not. I still have work to do, with you… I never thought you would bring me to the brink so… easily, and I admit it frightens me. /

"Your mother did not tell you?"

"My mother?" /I mustn't sound this desperate…/

"She was informed, with a friendly warning to you, some time beforethe catastrophic events at the Lake Victoria Academy. Oh, ourcondolences, of course, for your loss. It must have been a hard blow,especially with so little time to see her while she was sick… ColonelMarquise spent his leave at the estate while she lay dying?"

"Yes… I was… unable to take leave." /Could not face it… not then…and later, it was too late…/

"Ah, of course, your fresh promotion, the pressure of the events, the impending war… we appreciate your devotion. But why would you conceal the Colonel's true identity?"

"I did not. No one asked." /Strange that Milliardo should have hurled the same accusations at me – an opportunity to rally the troops, to advance my plans over the bodies of our fallen. We almost fell out over it. /

"You know very well that it is your duty to report anything that could have a bearing on the selection of candidates that would have access to classified material or participate in classified projects, as a potential security risk. You not only neglected this duty but actively foiled the discovery of the Colonel's past. Is that why you kept him close? To control him? Were you afraid he would leave… his post? Did you have reason to fear he would betray you?"

"No. No, no, no." /Oh gods, no… it was not his fault that I ignored his hints; he surely was not subtle./

"We heard of rather turbulent disagreements between you and him. Spats, rows."

"We are both outspoken." /Especially in bed… Milliardo is a screamer… Jesus, not now, it's not even funny. /

"Not too outspoken as far as he is concerned? It must have been a blow for you to lose not only a friend, close enough to be a… brother to you, but also your secret weapon? The famous Lightning Baron, your ace pilot and confidant? Your second in command, no less? Did you mix business with personal issues, General? How did it feel to be used, then left, tossed aside like a rag after he'd wiped his hands, and now he's washed them off you and everything you hoped for? Together? Did it bruise you? What will your soldiers think now of your ability to lead them? That they should still trust you with their lives?"

"I did not know his background."

"If this is true, then it is because you preferred not to ask the most basic of questions, General. Because you wanted to turn a blind eye, but your Colonel decided to rip apart whatever delusions you may have held. He has shown himself to be your enemy, a traitor, a liar and a cheat. He is not worthy of any sacrifice on your part, and your co-operation in this matter might yet soften any judgement this panel may pass on your behaviour."

"I will think about it."

"Our judgement will act as a recommendation Supreme Command with regards to proceedings under military law. We offer you a bargain, General. We urge you to consider it carefully."

Treize slightly inclined his head. His voice was low and quiet, his tone bland. "I will think about it. I am feeling… rather unwell now…I wish to apply for a break, sir."

"Conceded. This panel adjourns; we will reconvene at a suitable time. These two gentlemen will see you to your quarters, General. You will be called; in the meanwhile, keep yourself at this panel's disposal and confine yourself to your suite.

xxx

/When was the last time I felt so goddamn tired? I could do with a massage now… your hands mauling me through… your wonderful hands.../

His guards watched him close the door behind him, and he was sure they would stand right by the threshold should he try to step out. He stripped, folded his clothes neatly over the back of a chair, and went to take a shower. He felt not only exhausted to the point of numbness, but also dirty and disgusted. Time was running out, and those people had nothing better to do than to try and topple him –with no idea how to run this war, how to end it. But then, ending wars was not their kind of business. To them, the rain of blood turned into a deluge of money, and a general who digressed from waging wars for them was a cog jumped out of gear.

He smiled wryly as he turned on the hot water. /Never lose the engineer./

He let go of the tap when the water hit his back, and steadied himself with his hands splayed against the tiles. His head lolling forward, shoulders sagging just a little, he closed his eyes as heat washed into his chill limbs.

xxx

/"Treize?" Zechs stepped into the shower room that, late at night, lay abandoned save for the lone man in one of the stalls.

"Yes." Treize's voice quiet, but clear over the rush of hot water. He had torn off his oil-soaked, singed uniform that lay in a messy heap by his stall. One hand pressed against the tiled wall, he was rubbing his face with the other.

Zechs sat down on the slatted wooden bench that ran along the wall opposite the row of stalls, and began to undress somewhat slower.

They were in shock.

Everything had happened terribly fast – the jeep that was to pick up Treize and him from the control tower and carry them to their plane; a junior officer calling out to Treize, frantically waving a signature folder as he ran from the admin barracks towards the tower, Treize slowing down, turning, the car picking up speed towards them. Zechs told him later that he could see the driver looking at them. A fresh, youthful face, an intent gaze of concentration…

Treize had walked towards the young officer with the file, one of the ground control crew signalled wildly at the jeep to slow down and had to jump out of its path, the young man opened the file for Treize to sign whatever urgent dispatches it held – Zechs had been watching the commotion even as Treize pressed down on a fluttering sheet of paper, and Zechs drew his gun as the jeep careened past a barrier and barrelled towards them.

The shot, designed to hit the driver's shoulder, whipped across the short distance and smacked through the windscreen.

The young officer paled; Treize, brows drawn in a frown, turned to see… a ball of fire enfolding the man behind the wheel, his cap rising off his head, his hair evaporating in a ghostly halo of sparks, and then a blast ripped through the vehicle.

Zechs tore Treize down; they hit the ground with a hard thud, hands snapping over their heads, automatic response drilled ad nauseam. The officer dropped beside them, blood splashing over fluttering white papers, his fingers clasping the file. They could feel the ground shake beneath their stomachs with the force of the explosion, and a storm of debris thundered over them. The shockwave shattered the windows of the tower and the barracks, and when the shrapnel hail of metal and glass fragments had subsided into a rain of ash and soot, Treize scrambled to his feet.

Zechs had half-covered him, but Treize had taken a hit to his right shoulder and was bleeding profusely. From the hangars, the approaching wail of sirens, sharp and intermittent, announced fire engines and field ambulance.

In the pandemonium that followed, Treize – with barely contained impatience – let the field medics assess his wounds. He pressed down on his bleeding arm with his good hand while they worked as efficiently as possible with him stalking around to bark orders for Military Police to cordon off the place, send forensics in, and keep anyone else out. Zechs was off with the fire crew…

Until then, when he stepped into the shower stall next to Treize and turned both taps on full. "I took the liberty to assist forensics a little," Zechs began, reaching for the shampoo dispenser. "At present, they only know that there might have been a fault in the fuel system of the jeep, that the surveillance cameras suffered from a power failure, and that you are recovering from your injuries. I trust this suits your intentions."

Treize brushed back his soggy hair and looked over his shoulder at Zechs, appraising the damage. Cuts, bruises, blisters. It could have been so much worse… Zechs slowly shampooed his hair, then reached for the soap and began to carefully slide the bar over bruises and tears. He hissed sharply at the burn when it touched raw, scorched flesh.

Before Treize could say anything, Zechs went on, "I also chased down the crew who prepared the vehicle. One of the men was asleep after his shift. One blew his brains out with his own gun when I accosted him at the hangar. I caught number three – he's now in one of the secure cells in the basement of the office block. So far, he's only screamed abuse at me. I also thought it useful to have… a chat with the guy who had you sign those dispatches." Zechs rinsed his hair and tossed it back, his gaze settling on Treize. "He's willing to talk."

A long pause, before Treize said, "I want them interviewed separately first, then together. Create a prisoners' dilemma. Do what you like. I need answers." He slowly straightened, wincing at the tug of the bloodied bandage around his shoulder. He reached for the shampoo, pressed out a large glob, and began to wash his hair, his movements oddly awkward, without his usual fluid power. "This is not about me. I need those men to understand that. I need them to talk."

"And you give me free reign?"

A small pause, then, "Yes. Whatever you need to do. We will have them put through a court martial later, after we're done with our own investigation. We will need to be quick."

Treize turned off the water. He looked worn out. Zechs replaced the soap and glanced up, meeting his gaze. "Turn."

"What?"

Zechs stepped across and slid his arm around Treize's waist, Treize opened his mouth to protest, but when Zechs' fingertips, slick with soap, dug into the muscles of his neck and began to maul them gently, he let go of a long, shuddering breath and yielded.

"I think," Zechs said quietly against Treize's temple, "Tsubarov is behind this."

Treize tensed. "He was behind the order to disperse the Russian Officers Club, even though we have to thank him that we are everywhere now, throughout the Alliance Air Force. I must admit," Treize tilted his head back, almost closed his eyes, and opened his mouth to catch a few droplets of water that rolled off the tip of his nose, "I underestimated the man. He is an idiot, but a wily one."

Zechs growled assent; his grip softened and moved, large hands wandering over Treize's back, carefully mapping every small wound. Treize leaned forward to hold on to the soap ledge, the bar fell and slithered, Zechs bent to grab it. His dog tag dangled against his mouth; it irritated him, so he caught it between his lips with a muffled curse.

"You said?" Treize sounded a tad querulous, tired to the bones, and wary.

Another grunt, then Zechs remembered to drop the tag. "I said nothing." He replaced the soap. "But I was agreeing with you."

This got a small laugh out of Treize. "Good." An odd glance. "Those…our tags…"

"Nearly orphaned." Zechs laughed, it was not a happy sound.

They finished washing, got dried and dressed in silence – Zechs had thought of bringing along fresh uniforms, without rank insignia as yet, and still heavy with the brand-new-smell of storage, the stuffy reek of starch and a hint of moth powder.

Treize refused to rest. He ignored the protests of the medical officer who hovered at the office barracks. Treize was given a plain room with a desk and a computer so he could work undisturbed, whilst Zechs went to interview the men he had hunted down.

The next morning, Zechs set off to carry out Treize's new orders. The families of the two men were to be relocated, from L3 and L5respectively, to L2. Their communications were to be curtailed to cover the bare essentials, and strictly monitored. The men were to be held until a court martial could be assembled.

One of them fell ill in his cell and died before the court convened. The other one – the young man who had delayed Treize – volunteered for a transfer to a unit engaged in active combat. The unit was ground down.

The investigation did not link the deaths; an unfortunate accident, shoddy workmanship, and the suicide of a mortified mechanic did not merit a court martial, neither did a case of food poisoning. The young officer was honoured posthumously as a hero.

Treize closed the file.   
It would not have been convenient to tell the media that his popularity was not universal in the forces.

Zechs, standing by him solidly throughout, was not happy./

xxx

/You were honest. You spoke of betrayal and dishonour, and I saw the disappointment in your eyes… gods, it hurt…/

The bath had not refreshed him. He combed his hair, shaved, addressed slowly in a fresh uniform, smoothed out every crease and checked every button carefully, The clock above the door told him it was time to eat something, but he did not feel hungry. He was burning inside.

/Caffeine pills, sugar tablets… not a good way to fuel reason/ he mused wryly as he washed down a few of them. /But neither are you, Miliusha moy./

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Even now, the habitual smile was firmly in place. /Some things keep working… blessed be routines./ He let go of a long breath and turned away, forcing his mind into working, crystal clear and acute as always. It only took him a couple of steps, and by the time he sat down at his desk and flicked the computer terminal on, his thoughts were focused on the advanced design of Tallgeese he had been working on for some time now.

He looked up from the screen as the door hissed shut behind Une. She brought his meal – sealed rations, he noticed with a wry smile as he rose to receive the food bags. "Still keeping me safe, Colonel…" he teased, but his voice was mellow and his tone grateful.

Une managed a smile. "As much as I can, sir. I'll boil the kettle."

She went, without awaiting his response, to busy herself making coffee, using the freeze-dried ration coffee and milk. She set it on a tray, along with the packed sandwiches and energy bars. On her way back, she switched on the kitchen radio, found Treize's favourite program of tacky Russian vintage pop, and turned the volume on rather loud. "It's disgusting," she said while she stirred the yellow-brown mix in its Styrofoam cup, "but it's hot."

He pushed back his chair, gestured on the one at the other side of the desk. "And safe? Please…"

Une set the tray with in front of him and took her seat.

"Disgusting appears quite appropriate for inhabiting this place," Treize remarked, taking the cup.

She snorted softly. "A glorified cell. I put a few MRE rations into your fridge. I took them from the magazine." From amid stacks of others, with not a chance that this random sample would be contaminated in an attempt to eliminate him.

"Thank you… I am afraid I do need some nannying now, do I not?" A lashing of bitterness in his quiet words that surprised him as much as her. /This won't do. Not now. Least of all now. A general who cannot control his tone… takes his moods out on his officers…disgraceful../

She met his gaze through the wisps of steam rising from the drink, and into the silence, she said, low and oddly heated, "Your troops know, sir. All of them, rank and file alike."

Treize drank, carefully, and then swirled the dredges of the coffee, his fingers tapping out a slow rhythm on the cup. Tap, tap, tap…hollow, measured, matching the flow of seconds, hours, eternities… /How will I find you in this maze/ Slowly, he began to turn the cup in his hands. It made regular, screechy little noises as the Styrofoam rubbed against his skin.

Une shifted. "General, sir…"

/Back to the future…yes, that's our only way, is it not, Miliusha? You knew, long before me… Fast forward, skip all the unpleasantries we are yet to endure, and live…/ "Yes." He finished his drink and tossed the cup into a waste basket by his desk. They had put him up with all the finery he used to have, yet the tension that filled the place was almost palpable. On his way to and from the interview room, he had taken stock – at either end of the corridor on which his room was situated, armed military police stood guard, four men each side, no less, in addition to the two plain-clothes security men the Foundation had installed right outside his door.

"The officers are not happy with the Foundation interfering in military matters," Une said darkly. "The men are disgruntled that you're being held here. The Foundation men seized everything; their auditors came in with their own internal investigators, they brought some men from the Alliance intelligence service too. They took our finance files and every piece of paper they could lay hands on, the computers, the electronic records…"

"And my gun?" he cut in softly, without looking at her.

She swallowed hard, there was a brief, heavy pause, then a rustle of fabric and a hard clank as she placed the weapon on the shiny table. The matte grey of the barrel pointed away from Treize, past her. "Sir, I was…"

"Worried." His eyes scanning the screen, carefully examining the intrinsic piece of engineering displayed there in a finely detailed see-through fashion. "Is it loaded?"

"Yes, sir. I put a new clip in."

Treize stared down at his computer terminal, his face blank. On the screen, a three-dimensional model of Tallgeese II spun slowly, pulsing and shimmering in the pale green mesh of its neural network. /My children… all of them… are children of war… this thing…you… even my daughter… Perhaps I should have asked, why me, sometimes… but I told you there was no point in it, did I not? How smug was I to dismiss you thus…/

"They did not take everything," he said quietly, "you will see. For now, they allow me to keep working as long as I confine myself to my quarters. They are curious what our latest experiment might give them – oh, I will show them, in due course. But there is no doubt that they are observing, and they will come after me." He glanced up, with a bleak, hard expression and a smile that had nothing winning. "For now, I am severely restricted in my movements; my communications are strictly monitored. But you know that… they are watching closely – I don't have much time. I expect they'll recall me sometime soon, and there's only one verdict they have in mind." He paused. "Will you do something for me now?"

Une nodded crisply. "At your disposal, sir."

He bent to hit the download button and watched the image collapse, the screen fizzle out in specks of green and grey, before a bright blue progress bar appeared in its centre. Treize watched it slide speedily to the left. "Thank you. Tell our personnel at the Lake Victoria base to reach for the stars. This is the codeword." He looked up, meeting her gaze, intense and burning. "Time for Plan B. Our OZ units will rise and take over their bases. They will immobilise the tactical units and secure the strategic sites before noon tomorrow." /Let us hope someone has enough sense to command those men to surrender… better still, to join us… against you, my friend? My love… my soul…/

"Sir… may I add that personnel here too are unhappy about the way you are being treated. I do not expect anyone to put obstacles in your way…"

"We will have to be careful just how much of the old order we dismantle. Anarchy is not my aim. We will leave Headquarters be; let them keep face for now."

"Sir… but…" For a moment, a hint of confusion crept into her expression.

Treize gave her a quiet smile. "Some things need to stay whole… we must not grind down the seeds of our future."

A small pause, before she nodded. "Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you."

The smile warmed even as his gaze hardened. "Then give the signal. This war is about to end."

xxx

/It is tiring because it is so idiotic. No, wrong, there is method in this madness, surely… the law of profit, I should say, and I am in the way. A speck of dust on their shiny plate, the knob of fairy gold that turns back to mud when the sun rises… I had them blinded, and now they think they see… someone ought to switch on the light in this silly charade./

The room lay in semi-darkness, as before, pools of yellow light only on the place sets, but one single halogen light had been turned on behind the man who was heading the hearing. The bright beam shone right into Treize's face. It irked him, but not nearly enough to become important. The time for pain, for musings, for distracting regrets was over. He was in battle mode, unerring in his focus, and travelling on this path now like a bullet fired at its target.

"General, we all know that you tend to be brash and brazen, but this is outrageous!"

"What, gentlemen?"

"Your coup! Do not play the innocent – all the important bases have fallen into the hands of your Specials, and we hear that they will not accept any orders unless you issue them. This is mutiny. You will die for this."

"For my troops being loyal to me? Is it not my duty to provide loyal troops to the Alliance? Very well, gentlemen – though I do urge you to consider your actions carefully."

"Excuse us?"

Treize displayed a winning smile. "I offer you the negotiation table. I offer you talks, gentlemen, and do believe me, time is of the essence because if my troops do not hear otherwise by twenty four hundred hours tonight, they will begin the destruction of all strategically important bases, air, naval, and space. They will also begin a series of media broadcasts detailing their actions and highlighting the role of the Foundation in the latest conflict, and will publicise the relevant information on the internet. This will leave you exposed to the mercy of the colonists, and spell the end for the Foundation while allowing Earth and colonies to re-consider negotiations, which will doubtlessly entail the unconditional surrender of Earth to the colonial forces. In addition, I have encrypted and made inaccessible all data pertaining to my series of experiments with the Zero system. It is an opt-out scenario, gentlemen. Only I have the key… and Colonel Marquise."

"You are forgetting yourself! This is insane!"

/You have no idea, have you… Milliardo is out there, with a bone to pick and Zero on the loose… and that list of names in my head is growing by the second... no, you have not the faintest idea./ "On the contrary. You trusted my judgement so far, and you did well. I only ask you to extend this trust a little longer. I will not disappoint you."

"You serve the Foundation, General!"

"I am an officer of the Alliance. I serve Earth. I serve peace."

"You have sworn an oath of allegiance!"

"And I am holding true to it." Treize raised both hands, palms out, in a gesture that was commanding as much as soothing. "Gentlemen, let us be sensible… please."

A commotion outside the door, the unmistakable rush of booted feet, hushed commands, the metallic snap of safety catches… He dropped his hands, fingers curling, and tilted his head, lips lightly pursed, eyes frosty /Are you so afraid of me that you need a small army here? Good. Try and shoot me…/

"General, we do appreciate the fact that you are still very young. That you have been burdened with responsibilities way beyond what anyone of your age and experience should bear, and that so far, you have led the Alliance Forces triumphantly, that you have shaped the Specials into an elite force, that you are on the brink of bringing the colonies to heel – all this can still be taken into account in your favour, if you stand down now."

/You would like that, now would you…/ "This I cannot do."

"General-"

He continued, as if he had not heard, in the same calm, clear tone. "You will hear me out, or face the consequences. Someone has to confront Whitefang. I will try to talk to Colonel Marquise. I will talk to his sister. He will not listen to anyone else – you have tried, have you not? I want you to break off this ridiculous investigation, to stop obstructing my work, and let me get on with this war, in order that I may win and end it. I want you to restore our equipment and files to us, and for your investigators to pack up and stop harassing my personnel."

Wood splintered and the stench of scorched polish and melting plastic wafted into the room as the electronic door lock exploded with a muted thud. The doors burst open, and half a dozen MP burst in, racking up a wall of Plexiglas shields, their rifles, pushed through the gaps, trained on Treize's tensing back.

"Hold fire!" A sharp order from the man who had led the interrogation, his tone white with rage.

The sudden silence was filled with panting breaths, the creaking of leather, the soft clinking of a loose buckle. For a few heartbeats, no one stirred.

Until Treize took a step backwards, inclined his head in a smart salute, turned and walked out, past the guns and the shields, to finish what he had begun an eternity ago.

xxx

The MP were gone. The goons had been recalled. He was, more or less, free, until they found something better to hold him.

Une had brought him his combat gear, and he changed without compunction in front of her. When she handed him back his gun, their fingers brushed, and suddenly, she found her hand enfolded in his hard grip. "Thank you."

"Sir…"

"Une." He let go of her and tucked the gun into its hip rig. Swiftly, he slid his hands over the webbing, habit ingrained beyond thought, to check that everything was in its place. Content with his inspection, he looked up.

Une swallowed. "Sir, Whitefang are approaching Earth with a fleet of war craft."

A small pause. "Then we shall receive them accordingly. Let's begin…our last waltz… on the edge of a sword…"

"Sir…"

"Ann…"

This time, the silence was longer, deeper, until Treize shook his head and reached into the chest pocket of his combat jacket. "I…"Paper rustled, and he pulled out a thick brown envelope, folded in half. "I meant to ask you a favour."

"Yes, sir."

"Not as your commanding officer, but as a friend."

Her gaze slipped away, past him, dark lashes obscuring her eyes. "Yes," she repeated, but her voice was not steady anymore. "Your Grace..."

He held out the folded envelope. "Would you… please, give this to him… should the need arise. When the time is right… I trust your judgement."

"There will be no need for this," she said, even as a single tear slid down her cheek.

"No… of course not…" Treize smiled. "It is just… my failsafe. Contingency planning. Every good general plans for contingency… Ann?"

"I'm sorry, sir…"

He pulled her close. "No… there is too much of that already. We will win this war. We will conquer it all."

She was stiff in his embrace.

"I've asked more of you than of anyone else, have I not?" he said quietly, his breath stirring a few tendrils of hair that had come loose at her temples. "All those turns of face… you never hesitated. There are no suitable ways to express my gratitude. For… being here. For not doubting. For the risks you took. I truly appreciate having you at my side. I wish I could have done better by you than wrecking your career." He let go of her, and she found that she held the envelope in her hands. He nodded. "Ann… I believe I owe you an apology…"

Slowly, she shook her head. "We all make our choices. I made mine. You made my career possible in the first place."

"I couldn't…"

"I know."

"Another small silence, another tiny drop of eternity, before Treize drew a deep, sharp breath. "It might not bee too late yet for you to make contingency arrangements. It might be wiser-"

"Sir. Treize…"

They exchanged a long, dark glance, before she slipped the envelope into her jacket, with a slight metallic clink inside the paper wrapper. A slow smile spread on Treize's lips. "Time to face the music, I should think. I shall be fighting to live, but I must also prepare to die."

"You will live forever." Her voice was quiet and sure.

Treize's smile softened. "Ann… dear Ann… we ought to be realistic –and we cannot afford to be less than pragmatic. For now, this is it."

"Sir…"

"The end of everything. And a beginning. A new world. Let's dance."

And only when she followed him as he strode out into the corridor, with long, purposeful steps, did she realise that he did not wear his dog tag anymore.

xxx

THE END of LA7

**Notes:**  
(1) see Lightning Arc - 'The Purpose Of War'  
(2) Wizard's apprentice – in a ballad by Goethe, a young apprentice wizard summons – against the orders of his master – ghosts to help with his chores, but forgets the spell that bans them, and they wreck the house until his master gets rid of them.


End file.
